


Enjoy the Silence

by Miss_M



Series: J/B in Depeche Mode Key [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Depeche Mode
Genre: F/M, First Time, Post - A Dance With Dragons, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 12:17:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1225927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_M/pseuds/Miss_M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he takes Brienne’s maidenhead is the only time in his life Jaime can remember – other than his knighting ceremony, Cersei’s wedding, and the dark, fevered time after his maiming – not talking a blue streak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enjoy the Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics can be found [here](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/depechemode/enjoythesilence.html). I own nothing.

When he takes Brienne’s maidenhead is the only time in his life Jaime can remember – other than his knighting ceremony, Cersei’s wedding, and the dark, fevered time after his maiming – not talking a blue streak.

It’s for the wench’s benefit. Words make her uncomfortable, she would rather a sword or a quest, something sharp and tangible. It’s for his own benefit as well, for he is more nervous than he would care to admit, even to Brienne, blushing and atremble as she is in his arms. 

Jaime kisses her through the first, sharp pain, plants kisses on her thick lips, her crooked nose, her cheeks and chin, whispering only her name from time to time. A single, solitary “All right?” and a jerky, tight-lipped nod in return is all the conversation they make. A tear slips out of the corner of her eye, so he kisses that too. Brienne’s hands release their bruising, blunt-nailed grip on his shoulders, fold themselves around his back, his hips, and she cries no more. 

Brienne feels huge and solid as the earth under him, and Jaime would like to grab all of her at once. She is warm and tight as a fist around him, as he knew she would be, but it does no good. The sensation is still overwhelming, coupled with the size of her and the tiny flutter of her heart under him, under all that muscle, her harried breaths, the first little moans of surprise even more than pleasure Jaime elicits with his hips, his fingers, his tongue on her nipple, on the pearlescent rope marks around her throat, in her mouth. 

She tastes fresh and new, but in his head a cacophony of noises rages as though they were coupling in the middle of the market in King’s Landing. Cersei’s panted commands, her breathless urging to go faster, harder, quicker, no time, no time. The coarse voices of men shouting ‘Kingslayer’s whore,’ a voice like dry, poisonous leaves hissing of death from the darkness beyond the circle of firelight. Shouts of kingslayer, oathbreaker, words like Northern winds which cut and flay. Voices which screech while they die, scream about war and fire and destruction, flesh and bone torn limb from limb. 

The voices deafen Jaime, needles through his ears. He tries to drown them out. Hears over them all his own breath escape him in a low hiss as he pushes just a touch harder, and Brienne responds with a hiss of her own. Her fingers meet in the small of his back to tell him it’s all right, it’s all right. All of it. Even the pain.

Jaime would like to do this on a feather bed, in a warm chamber with glass covering the windows and rushes on the floor, not on a bedroll on the frozen ground halfway between the Neck and Winterfell, the burnt carcass of King’s Landing behind them, only the Wall and a prospect of the sun returning as hollow as a prayer ahead, but he knows better than to complain. Opens his eyes and takes in Brienne’s face, her mouth twisted with discomfort but her eyes as clear and trusting as ever. 

He is grinning like a fool, he knows it and doesn’t care, because she returns a tentative smile of her own, lifts one of her hands from his waist to stroke his cheek, twine her thick, scarred fingers, moist with his sweat, in his hair. 

Jaime briefly considers pretending he will nip at her hand, remembers why Brienne would not like that. So he butts his head against her hand instead, arching his neck and purring, and startles her into laughter, as he intended. 

Brienne relaxes on the gust of her laugh, and he can move in her more easily. She sighs and shifts, lifts her hips and folds her trembling legs around Jaime, her heavy, muscular thighs slick with sweat, hers and his, her ribcage no longer steel rods under him. She is soft skin and heartbeat like a bird captured in his hand. Not quite enjoying herself yet, but that’ll come too. 

What he wouldn’t give for two hands right now. Jaime wriggles and pushes closer to Brienne, putting more of his weight on her, props himself up on his maimed arm and thrusts, gentle still but starting to move more quickly now, to fuck rather than stroke and ease, listening for approval and permission in her laboring breaths. Brienne’s face is so close, warm red and bright blue in the darkness. Jaime presses his mouth and nose to her ravaged cheek, a familiar guilt stabbing through him. He was a fool for letting her go questing alone in the middle of a war. His breath against the rough skin of her cheek, flesh like a lightning-riven tree, is almost a sob, but Brienne strokes his hair briefly before she clutches his waist and hips again. She knows him, brings him back to the cold night, their hopeless journey, her warm, solid body under his. So Jaime dips his head to kiss her neck, her collarbone, his brow resting on her strong shoulder. Her name on his lips muffled against her, his fingers scrabbling to get between them where they’re pressed together, belly to belly. 

His breath is hers, and when Brienne tips her head up and catches his lips with her mouth, not so much kissing as sucking, still shy, Jaime can only groan, certain this will be the end of him. Brienne doesn’t pull back in startlement, keeps kissing him, her body taking him in while he strokes her where they are joined, flesh to flesh, his hand held fast between them. Their blankets shifted and slipped off a while ago, an avalanche of wool. Jaime’s back is cold, exposed to the stars and the night air, but Brienne’s hands on his waist warm him, her body under him is better than a fire, better than anything. He returns her wordless huffs and moans in his ear, on his face, with moans of his own, and does not regret keeping quiet for once in his life.


End file.
